


time cannot erase

by redcabooze



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Death in Childbirth, Father-Daughter Relationship, Grieving, Growing Up, Half-Vampires, Immortality, Multi, Pregnancy, Time Skips, Vampires, fyi the habismal in this is like. a background ship, nat is 18-24 in this, this fic is kind of heavy, trencil realizes that hes going to outlive nat and freaks out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29217321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcabooze/pseuds/redcabooze
Summary: Time flew quickly for someone like him.Too quickly.-in which nat is not, as trencil had assumed, immortal.
Relationships: Kamal Bora/Dr. Boris Habit, Nat Vancey & Trencil Varnnia, Trevor Garbo/Nat Vancey
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	time cannot erase

**Author's Note:**

> HI THERE. umm i got kind of out of hand with this fic i wrote it all in one night because i super couldnt sleep LMAO  
> i hope......you enjoy it. please heed the tags there is character death in this fic

The first time that Trencil realized something was off was on Nat’s eighteenth birthday.

In his defense, he had never raised, or even  _ seen  _ a half-vampire before; Nat was truly one of a kind, in that aspect. He’d known it when she was born. He’d known it the moment that she was  _ conceived.  _ He remembered, pressing his thumbs over Samantha’s swollen belly, exactly what he had told her;  _ “She is going to be absolutely unique _ . _ ”  _ And she was just that. Unique, and so, so beautiful. He had kept her as safe as he could, as long as he could, long after Sam had passed away. It would seem, in the long run, his borderline-overprotective attitude had paid off; Nat Vancey had successfully grown into a lovely young woman. The trouble that Trencil was having, now, as he smiled and clapped along with the rest of Nat’s friends as she blew out the candle on her birthday cupcake, was that he was beginning to get curious when the growing would  _ stop. _

Trencil hadn’t aged a day since he’d been bitten in 1766. He was twenty-five then, and now, in 1999, he still looked and felt as young as he was two-hundred and twenty-three years ago. When Samantha had passed away, it had been tragic. She was so  _ young _ , and in a brief moment of selfishness, Trencil had wished he could have died with her; Nonetheless, he had his little girl, and she was half of him. Naturally, he only assumed that she would be immortal as he was.

But Nat was not like him, Trencil was beginning to realize. Trencil had been bitten, and turned, and the age he was then was the age he would be forever. Nat had never been  _ turned _ \- she just was. And clearly, there was no aging stoppage, at least not anytime recently. It was more than apparent that she’d grown up; the girl was nearly as tall as he was, now. Sometimes it startled him. Sometimes he would turn around in the kitchen, looking down, expecting to see his little girl, and stop mid-conversation, having to correct his posture. It was all just so  _ fast _ . It felt like yesterday he was helping her into her dress-shoes, all wide-eyes and pudgy limbs.

Time flew quickly for someone like him.

Too quickly.

“You okay, dad?”

Trencil was pulled from his thoughts, his hard expression softening as he turned to look at Nat. Nat.  _ 18-year-old Nat, _ with that Trevor boy’s arm slung around her shoulders and a half-eaten cupcake in her hand. Her eyes were fixed on his face, studying him hard. Trencil smiled, shoo-ing thoughts of immortality and toddlers out of his head.

“Of course, sweetheart. Happy Birthday.”

* * *

The second time that Trencil’s doubts began to sow was when Nat got married.

Trevor had dropped to one knee with a ring on their fifth anniversary. It was a cheap diamond, Trencil could tell just by looking at it, but it was all that poor Trevor had been able to afford. Besides, the boy had actually  _ come to him to ask, _ first, and Trencil was nothing if not a sucker for tradition. It wasn’t like he had it in him to even think of saying no, anyway; Never in all his centuries had he seen somebody get his Natalie to smile like that. Who was he to deny her the love of her life?

Nat was twenty-two, now.

Trencil paid for the wedding in full, of course. He had more than enough, and it was tradition for the Bride’s family to pay anyway, right? He loved his daughter. But money couldn’t do everything for them, not really. He could pay for the cake, and the dress, and the venue, but there were still all the phone calls. And the  _ invites _ .

“Dad,” Nat had called one evening, stress evident in her voice. Trencil swept into the room in an instant, moving silent as ever. Nat was sat at the dining room table, which was  _ swamped  _ with invitations. She looked exhausted, her face hidden in her hands, coral hair falling over her shoulders onto the half-written invites below. “Can - Can you help me, a little bit, here? I’m sorry, I know you’re paying for everything, you’ve done so much, I’m just - “

“Not another word,” Trencil soothed, waving a hand dismissively. “Of course I’ll help, darling. Where did you leave off?” As Trencil leaned over his daughter, peering at the unfinished invitations below, something else caught his eye, instead.

Nat had a gray hair.

Trencil swallowed.

“I’ve never gotten a grey hair,” Trencil sputtered that evening, pacing back and forth around Kamal’s living room. “Not from stress, not from age, certainly. She’s twenty-two, for God’s sake, she shouldn’t be getting those anyway!” Kamal didn’t seem like he wanted to hear it, running a hand through his own lightly graying hair.

“Trencil,” he began, his voice strained as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I love you, man, but I’ve got work tomorrow, and this wasn’t exactly what I thought you meant when you said you had an emergency.”

“But this  _ is _ an emergency, Kamal,” Trencil insisted, stopping his pacing. “She’s barely stepped into adulthood and she’s showing signs of age? When is she going to stop? How does it  _ work _ with half-vampires?” Kamal pressed his lips into a thin line, looking off to the side. He seemed  _ uncomfortable,  _ desperate to focus his attention elsewhere. He picked up a photograph of Boris sitting on the coffee table, fidgeting with the stand and shrugging. “...What is it?”

“I...Trencil, I know maybe you don’t...want to hear this,” Kamal began, keeping his tone soft and careful. “But...have you ever considered that she might  _ not _ be immortal?”

Trencil felt scalded.

“She has to be,” he said quietly, his gaze focused unblinkingly on Kamal, who sighed and stood up, his jaw set.

“No, Trencil, she really doesn’t!” he argued. “You‘ve said it yourself, like, a million times, but she’s not a full vampire!” He sighed, pushing a hand up through his hair. “I-I think you’re gonna have ta accept that she might - might just live life, get old, and die like the rest of us, alright?”

Trencil’s fangs slid from his gums before he could even think to stop them, his eyes flashing. “You want me to accept that?” He asked, appalled. “You want me to - to just sit back and be  _ okay _ with my little girl  _ dying _ ?”

“Yes, you goddamn idiot!” Kamal snapped, his brow twitching. “We all die, alright - or - or at least most of us! I’m thirty-fuckin-three, Boris is gonna be fourty-seven in a couple months. In case you’ve forgotten, most of us don’t  _ have  _ the option to just  _ skip out! _ You love ‘em while you have ‘em, okay, and when they’re gone, you love ‘em even more. Is that so hard for you to - “

Enraged, Trencil whipped his cape across the coffee table, knocking off all of the contents and earning a shout from Kamal as he stormed out of the house. Briefly, he heard the frantic, heavy stumbling of Boris, surely woken by the noise as pens, mugs, and photos dropped to the carpet.

“В чем дело? What happened?!”

“Nothing, Boris. Just a two-hundred year old  _ dick _ .”

* * *

Trencil chose to take action when Nat got pregnant.

It had been a good two years of marriage; Trencil would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of her. A husband, a car, a house of her own - and the girl was only...twenty-four.

Physically, he and his daughter were nearly the same age.

The baby announcement was met with nothing but positive reception from everyone Nat knew; She was one whole month along, wasn’t that  _ great _ ? Kamal and Boris had sent money and their congratulations. Lulia had sent some sort of...autographed letter, adorned with indigo kisses that Trencil could only assume were from Jerafina. Letter after letter flooded in with cash, gifts, advice. Trencil had other things on his mind.

Trencil had waited until he was certain that Trevor had left for work before knocking thrice on the door. Nat answered within a few moments. She needed a haircut, Trencil noted almost immediately; she was beautiful, no doubt, coral hair failing to almost her mid-back, but she had  _ never  _ kept it that long before. Trencil thought that she looked too...too, well... _ mature _ .

Twenty-four, he reminded himself.

“Hey, dad,” she seemed surprised, her brows raising. “Why didn’t you call or something? I didn’t know you were coming by, the house is kind of a mess.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Trencil glanced down at the doorstep. “May - May I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Nat stepped aside, and Trencil stepped inside immediately. The first thing that he noticed were the gifts and the letters, piled up on the coffee table in front of the television. Nat was loved. So, so  _ clearly _ Nat was  _ loved _ \- so was this really so selfish of him to want? He let the door shut behind him, taking a shaky breath. “You have a very nice home,” he noted gently, giving her a smile.

Nat snickered, rolling her eyes. “Thanks. I think it could use a little style, if you ask me, but Trevor’s usually busy with work or whatevs. You want a drink or something? I’ve got O-positive in the fridge.”

“I’m alright. Thank you.”

Nat nodded, a soft smile on her lips. She watched her father sit down on the couch, hands clasped oh-so-neatly in his lap. “You know, it’s so weird,” she chuckled under her breath, crossing her arms. “When I was little, you always looked so  _ old _ to me. No offense, or anything.” Trencil laughed, shaking his head and waving a hand dismissively. “Because, like, you were my dad.  _ Are _ my dad...duh. You were an adult. But now that I’m older, and I can really like...see you, I guess?” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, seating herself next to her father casually. “You’re basically the same age as me. I mean...appearance-wise, anyway. That’s so crazy.” She grinned. “One day I might end up looking older than my own _ dad _ .”

Trencil felt ill.

“Th-That’s…that’s actually why I came over, my dear,” he spoke hoarsely, reaching out and taking Nat’s hands in his own. He rubbed the pads of his thumbs over her fair palms, nerves wracking his system. “Um...I’ve been thinking a lot, about...your status, as a half-vampire and everything. You’re one-of-a-kind, you know that, right?” Nat nodded slowly, obviously unsure of where this was going. Her smile had vanished; her expression was utterly unreadable. “I was so...I was so sure when you were younger, that you would end up like me. I don’t know how I thought it would work, really, I-I had just assumed...your  _ lifespan… _ ” Trencil took a deep, shuddering breath. “Natalie, I want to turn you into a full vampire.”

Nat was quiet for a long, long time.

Eventually, she squeezed her father’s hands back, a weak chuckle leaving her throat. “I know you don’t wanna be alone,” she started gently, tears welling up in her eyes as she shook her head. “But I can’t do that, dad, you know I can’t.”

Trencil’s throat felt like cotton. “Why not?”

“I couldn’t do that to Trevor, dad, letting him get older while I stay in my twenties, and - “

“Well we’ll turn him, too,” Trencil insisted, his voice shaking. He gripped onto his daughter’s hands for dear life, sliding off of the couch to kneel in front of her. His expression was pleading. “You - You two can stay together, it’s not a problem.”

“You  _ know _ Trevor is like, a werewolf.”

“That was real? I thought that was just a weird role-playing thing he liked.”

“No, dad! And what about - “ Nat swallowed, taking one of her hands away from her father’s and resting it against her stomach. “What would happen to...to the baby? You have no idea, if you turned me, I could...what if I lost it?”

“And how do you think I feel?” Trencil hissed, panic bubbling up like lava in his stomach, his desperation getting the better of him. “Losing  _ my  _ child? Knowing one day I’m going to have to sit at your funeral, looking just the same as I did when you were born? You don’t know how hard that is, Natalie, you can’t know!” He was being selfish. He knew it, at this point - could see it in the fading sympathy in Nat’s expression, and the growing irritation. Nonetheless, the words kept falling from his lips. “Please, my flower - my darling, my beautiful little girl,  _ you are all I have left in this world _ . I can’t do it, without you.  _ Please _ .”

Nat tugged her hand free from Trencil’s, scoffing and standing from the couch. Silent tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and she moved toward the front door. She jerked it open, glaring daggers at her father and gritting her teeth. “No,” she snapped. “Go home, dad.”

“But I - “

“ _ Get out! _ ”

* * *

**FROM:** gardeninggardenia@mail2.cob

**TO:** bunnies66@WYSU.mountain

Hello, dearest friend. You weren’t answering my phone calls, so I thought I might send an e-Mail, instead. I was wondering if you might be open to letting me vent about a certain occurance regarding my daughter, recently?

P.S.: I am very sorry for damaging your coffee table.

**-**

**FROM:** bunnies66@WYSU.mountain 

**TO:** gardeninggardenia@mail2.cob 

thanks for the apology. two years late.

do you mean the ‘occurance’ where you barged into your pregnant daughters house and asked her if you could turn her into a vampire? 

no, trencil. you can’t vent about that. stop calling.

**-**

**-**

**FROM:** gardeninggardenia@mail2.cob

**TO:** Hab_B@PedalMail.cob

Hello, Dr. Habit. I hope that you don’t mind me asking, but do you have any advice on forgiveness? Or repairing relationships?

P.S. Why did Kamal block me on petalmail? Are you guys recieving my phone calls?

**-**

**FROM:** Hab_B@PedalMail.cob 

**TO:** gardeninggardenia@mail2.cob 

ehllo trencil. yoy do not get 2 repair relashonshups wiht people youe have hurt with a simple apologie. yu have 2 work back at getteng their truast in yoy agem. 

wen u do semtging bad, and u wamt 2 repare it, yore intent shld be reparation 4 th people u horted. not forgivmess of your snelf.

apologize 2 nat becoz u hurt her. not bcouz u want her 2 liek u agen.

P.S. kamal sez it es becoas u r “annoying” and u “borke his fav-rit mug”

* * *

It was a girl. 

The gender reveal party was small; Nat had never been big on that sort of thing. Something about conformists and something else about forest fires - Trencil didn't quite understand. Nonetheless, they cut the cake, and it was pink inside, and the small group of friends and former-Habiticians all clapped their hands and cheered. 

Trencil was one of the first to approach Nat, hesitance on his face. Trevor’s lax stance tensed immediately upon his approach; Clearly, he’d been told what had happened. “Thank you for inviting me,” he began softly. Nat nodded wordlessly, resting a hand on her stomach. She was well along by now, maybe six months. The guilt washed over Trencil quickly; Of course, he reminded himself, he would have been invited. Fight or not, he was her father, and Nat wouldn't exclude him regardless of how angry she may have been. “I...wanted to apologize," he began, "For what I said, to you, I - “

“Dad,” Nat interrupted, shaking her head. “It’s...it’s okay, seriously. I know you’re just…” she gave an exasperated sigh. “I love you. We’ve got a lot of time together still, alright? I promise.” She gave a sly smile, and in the back of his mind, Trencil was reminded of that same rebellious pre-teen he had brought into The Habitat. 

Trencil gave a shaky sigh, cupping his daughter’s cheek gently. “You look so much like your mother,” he said softly.

“Thank you.” She grinned, raising a brow slowly. “You know, you’ve apologized to me, but,” she nodded toward Boris and Kamal, who were chatting in the corner of the yard. “I think Kamal’s pretty torn up about his cup, still.”

“Oh, he can stay torn up.”

“C’mon, dad! Apologize for _me?_ ”

“Don’t ‘c’mon dad’ me, young lady! You know he  _ blocked  _ my phone number? I think that’s rude! That’s rude, right?” Nat laughed, a bright smile  _ finally  _ lighting up her face, and Trevor de-tensed his shoulders, and Trencil let himself relax. He tapped his fingertip against Nat’s swollen belly, and promptly changed the subject. “So. Have you thought of any names, yet?”

* * *

On October 15th, 2005, at 2:32 AM, Lilith Samantha Vancey-Garbo was born. Trevor was the first to hold her, entranced with the fact that it was  _ his kid _ . Trencil was the second, and for a total of 10 blissful, ignorant minutes, he was so enthralled with his granddaughter that he felt silly for ever asking Nat to do such a thing at all.

On October 15th, 2005, at 2:41 AM, Natalie Maribel Vancey-Garbo died from complications in childbirth.

Trencil was in shock, barely listening to anything. The doctor’s words sounded far away, and he was vaguely away of his own hand on Trevor’s back, some echo of comfort to a plethora of muffled sobs and desperate denials. Twenty-four years. He’d gotten his little angel for twenty-four years, and then she was ripped from him. Just like  _ that.  _ What had he ever been thinking, that she was getting old? Too mature? Twenty-four years was nothing. That was a blip on a timeline. A star in a galaxy. They were meant to have more time together. They were  _ supposed  _ to have more  _ time together. _

Sitting on his bed, putting his shoes on slowly for his only child’s premature funeral, Trencil recalled a time when she was 13 years old and rebellious. When she was wearing too much makeup and the strangest sort of clothes he’d ever seen. When anybody coming up to her was met with a middle finger, or a glare. He recalled how clearly he had heard that same angry little girl say that she had loved him, and how warm his unbeating heart had felt in that moment. 

Before he left, Trencil opened up Nat’s closet. For the most part, since she had left to live with Trevor, he had left her room mostly untouched. The same posters sat in the same spots on the baby-pink walls. He pulled out her pink jacket; much too small on her now, much too big on her then. She had insisted on wearing it everywhere anyway, he remembered, no matter how it dragged at her feet and obscured her hands. It made her look, in her own words, _cool._ He pressed a soft kiss to the fabric, laid it down on her bed, and got ready to go.

The funeral was gloomy. Trencil could not focus on a word the eulogist said. He sat emotionless next to Trevor, who looked to be in similar shape. Tears ran silently down his cheeks, occasionally landing on the baby girl in his arms. Her father would periodically wipe the tears away from her soft, gentle face with a single finger, shushing her carefully. “She’s got your eyes,” he noted in a whisper, glancing up at Trevor. In some other scenario, maybe, where he was angrier, or had more energy, Trencil might have hated him. He might have hated the child, too. But he had known Trevor since he was twelve years old and trying to 'expose' his vampirism, and looking at him now, twenty-three, widowed with a baby, the only thing he could bring himself to feel was remorse. And sympathy. And _heartache_. He'd had his daughter for a sickeningly short twenty-four years, he reminded himself, but Trevor had had his wife for barely more than _seven,_ and he'd only been married to her for two of them. Under no circumstances could he hate him. And, as he looked down at the child - her skin was a soft grey, like Nat's. She'd gotten that from Samantha - he could _never, ever_ hate her.

Trevor nodded weakly, swallowing. “Yeah. She - she’s...other than that, she looks just like her, right? It’s - It’s crazy.” He sniffled, and sucked in his cheek. He stared at the floor, keeping his voice at a whisper. “Do you...blame me? Since I got her pregnant, and she - “

“No. No, Trevor, never. And don’t you dare blame yourself.” He swallowed, slipping a hand over one of Trevor’s. To think he'd even considered it. This strange little boy...man. He was a man, now. He remembered him so clearly as a  _ child _ , scraggly and wild and crushing so obviously on Nat. He remembered the first time she had told him about him, babbling on and on about the conversations they'd had, only to quickly end it with a fumbled remark on how lame he was. She'd loved him, even then. It was clear. Trencil had no right to pass any sort of cruelty onto him now.

“You…” his brow twitched. “You love them while you have them,” he said softly, voice wavering. “And when they’re gone, you love them even more. We just keep her in our memory, and that's all that we can do.”

Trevor took this in slowly, nodded shakily, gave Trencil a weak, but  _ genuine  _ smile, and slowly turned his attention back to the eulogist. Lilith cooed in his arms, and Trencil tried to listen to what the man on the podium was saying. Despite his attempt to listen, despite his attempt to console his grieving son-in-law, the only thought prevalent in Trencil's mind was that never once in his almost three-hundred years of living had he _hurt_ quite so bad.

* * *

**FROM:** bunnies66@WYSU.mountain 

**TO:** gardeninggardenia@mail2.cob 

trencil, i am so, so sorry. i cant even begin to imagine how you’re feeling right now. there’s nothing more awful than losing like...a kid, even if she wasn’t really a kid. please, let me know if there’s anything me or boris can do for you. we’re here for you, i promise. i am  _ so _ sorry.

**-**

**FROM:** gardeninggardenia@mail2.cob

**TO:** bunnies66@WYSU.mountain

I appreciate your support kamal, but  _ I  _ am the one who is sorry.

**-**

**FROM:** bunnies66@WYSU.mountain 

**TO:** gardeninggardenia@mail2.cob 

for what?!??!!??! you just lost your daughter

you're not considering anything, like, brash, right? vampires can't commit suicide, can they? please talk to me, or boris, or like. somebody. we're here.

**-**

**FROM:** gardeninggardenia@mail2.cob

**TO:** bunnies66@WYSU.mountain

For breaking your favorite mug.

**Author's Note:**

> kamal just glue the fucking mug back together  
> thank you for sticking it out if u read all of this!! please leave comments telling me if u liked it, sometimes i feel limited with my writing and id love to know what u guys think :-)


End file.
